retribution
by Remus4Lyphe- Moonlight Night
Summary: a werewolf and his family are run out of their homes. He takes retribution on the villagers, turning their children one by one. that is, until one brave woman decides to intervene.


Retribution

"Aaagh!" The crowd ran towards the source of the screaming. Mama Joe followed, though she had a sinking feeling in her gut that she already knew what had caused it. She broke through the surrounding throng of onlookers and gasped in horror.

"Emmaline!" Mama Joe screamed.

There lay her only daughter, Emmaline, with her leg badly mangled, deep crimson blood streaming down her legs and onto the red dirt roads of Bayberry Village. Mamma Joe picked up her daughter, and, brushing a stray braid out of Emmaline's scratched face, carried her home.

Bayberry was a small hamlet roughly six miles out of town, with little wooden houses arranged in a sort of haphazard way around a central square. Mama Joe's house was in the inner ring, and it was here that she brought Emmaline.

"Not my sweet, sweet Emmaline!" she moaned.

A sudden wave of guilt washed over Mamma Joe as the neighbours left, an eerie silence hanging over all, and she was left to her own thoughts. She rinsed the dark sepia of her daughter's skin and tended to the bright, red, crescent mark which stood out right above Emmaline's ankle, showing plainly whose teeth had made it. Emmaline was the third person to have been turned in three months, and Mamma Joe knew who was doing it. Worst of all, she knew it was her fault. She also knew it had to stop.

It was a warm, summer night when this had all stared. Mamma Joe remembered when she, Marva, and Joy had been the leaders of the mob that had driven John, André and Beyonce` out of Bayberry. She remembered how the light of the waning moon had danced across his face as he tried to defend himself, his friend and his wife.

"We don't want you and your kind polluting our village," Marva had declared.

Joy had chimed in, "you filth shouldn't be allowed to live around decent people!"

André had protested," We didn't do it! It wasn't us, leave us be, please!" Beyonce had broken into tears, and John put his arm around her. But the mob didn't care.

Mamma Joe herself had said, "Then who was it? You don't think we know how shifty trash like you are? Get your freaks of asses out of our village," even amongst Beyonce's pleas.

"We've always lived here, where are we to go," Beyonce choked out.

"Anywhere but here," Mamma Joe had answered.

André had left, but every month since that someone had been turned. First it had been Marva's daughter, Kiara, then joy's youngest son, Brandon, and now Emma. It had to stop. But she remembered clearly André's last words, "I'll turn you all, each and every one of you! Then you'll see. Teach you to treat a man like that. We'll see what you think then," and André had always been a man of his word. Mamma Joe pulled her shawl around her and tramped across the square to the little blue and white house where Marva lived. When mamma Joe knocked, it was Joy who answered. She tucked her dreadlocks behind her ear and welcomed mamma Joe in, all the while looking jitterier than ever. She looked like she was running on coffee alone.

"Come in Marge, just sit here, I-I-I'lllll g-get-t you som-me tea-tea and c-c-coffee," Joy tittered.

"No thanks Joy, I need to talk to you and Marva.

"W-w-well, Marva's n-not up to – not really in a state for talking, uh…"

"Joy! Joy to the world…" Marva's voice rang through the room as she came down the stairs. Half of her thick, black hair stood on end while the other half was in not-so-neat cane rows.

"Goodness Marva, what happened to you?" exclaimed Mamma Joe.

"Sh – she's g-gone mad," Joy explained, weariness washing across her face.

"Yes, well, Joy, I need to talk to you. You weren't there today. I can see you're, uh, occupied,"

"J-joy to the world!"

"But it was Emma. She got taken."

"Emmaline?" joy asked.

"Emmaline," Mamma Joe confirmed, "this has got to stop. First it was Kiara, then Brandon, then Emma."

"But Marge, what can we do? The three of us,"

"…for the lord hath come!"

Joy corrected herself, "two of us, can't do much."

"Yes we can. We can at least apologize. It's gone too far. Who's it going to be next? It could be you, Joy."

"Yes," Joy conceded, "it has gone too far. But I don't think André will accept an apology from us. You see Marva? When Kiara got taken, she just – snapped. Said she wasn't Kiara anymore. S-s-she t-took the child and – and tossed her – into – the river, she did. Ain't never been sane afterwards."

Marva seemed to snap from her trance upon hearing the forbidden name.

"I –it's for a-all of us, Joy," she said, voice quivering, "c-can't have none of them ar-round. F-for all of us, Marge." Suddenly, Marva's already quivering voice broke, and she fell down sobbing unto the floor, tears spilling from behind her tired lids, a pitiful sight crumpled on the wooden floor of the small cottage. Joy sighed and wrapped her arms around Marva, securely, comfortingly, and guided her slowly up the stairs, shooting Mamma Joe a glance as she ascended. Mamma Joe slowly made her way outside, still fazed by what she had seen of the capabilities of the human soul. The day had given way to night and the frigid air brushed her face as she wondered – what could possibly drive a mother to drown her own daughter? Certainly not the contraction of a mere illness. Mamma Joe knew she had to do something. She had helped cause this. It was her fault too, and by Jove, she was sorry. Wrapping her shawl tightly against her body, she followed the copper roads illuminated by the just waning moon, until she came to the edge of the forest. The trees seemed to form a thick and foreboding wall growing straight up from the ground, allowing no trespassers. And, just outside it, shrouded in darkness, was André.

Mamma Joe took a deep breath, seeming to draw straight from the crisp night air, and with a determined courage possessed by a dear few of our time, approached.

"I knew you would come, sooner or later," he said, not turning his attention in the slightest from the small carving he was whittling. Looking closer, Mama Joe could see what it was – a wolf, head raised to the sky, a body lying below, with rivulets of blood running down its legs.

"It's Emma," was all he said.

Ignoring his macabre, though skilled, work, Mamma Joe continued, "I want to apologize, André."

The scratch of knife against wood met her ears, nothing more, nothing less. She could see this was going to be a monologue.

"I can't speak for the whole village," she was glad her voice held steady, "but I can speak for myself. As well as for Marva and for Joy. Marva's had it worse than you could imagine. She's, she's gone mad. Insane. She drowned her daughter. André, please stop."

"Oh, but I _can_ imagine," he spat, "funny how people can act in such a revolting manner, isn't it?"

"André',"

"You hypocrites have no damn shame, do you? No damn shame. You can run a man, his friend, his wife, from their home for twenty–one years, kill children in cold blood, all because of things impossibly beyond human control. And you know what disgusts me the most? When the tables are turned, when you suffer, you run crying, like a wounded child. Frankly, Marge, it makes me sick," he said, his voice infused with such passion that Mamma Joe would not have recognized him, had he not turned is burning amber eyes on her, daring her to declare him wrong.

Yet, strangely, she saw a vulnerability shining through, lost innocence and the wisdom of the persecuted.

"André, I know we've been inexcusable, and I don't want forgiveness." She took another deep breath, and then continued.

"I just want you to stop. A family has been torn apart, and a woman driven to the brink of insanity. Well, a bit further than the brink, actually. Don't you see? Much worse will follow if you don't stop. I – guess I deserve it most, since, well, I started it."

The tears which had hovered threateningly at the edge of her lids now cascaded down, even as she realized how childish the last part sounded.

"You know what; I'll show you I'm not trying to wimp out. I just don't want to see anyone else get hurt. I'm game, take me, and leave the rest. It was three of us who led the mob, the rest were just following, as they always do, and they're scared enough – witless, actually. And we three have all suffered dearly. Please?"

At last, the façade fell. "Shut up!" he shouted, with obvious disgust, and annoyance.

"You know what, fine. But you – you won't get off so easy, Marge. I'm turning you next month. Try your luck out there with the 'civilized' wizards, see how you do. That's why we came here in the first place, you know," he reflected softly, "thought we'd get some peace. Guess we were wrong. You had better go now. You all annoy me, do you know? Did you leave Emma alone? _That _was smart. I'll bet she's scared. Confused, at the very least. You'd be better off there than here."

He reached for something on the ground and then tossed it to Mamma Joe. She caught it and realized it was a small drink bottle, with the label scratched off and filled with a thin, amber liquid.

"Go give it to Emma. Tell her you made it, if it gets her to drink it. And don't waste any on Brandon; it will do no good now. Perhaps you should leave now."

Mamma Joe gave the young man one last look and realized just how strong and – and brave he was. Slowly, she turned and went home. She sat by Emma's bed and held her hand. Emma turned and faced her mother, a pondering look on her pretty face.

"Mamma, you know something?"

"What darling?"

"I don't feel any different. I feel like the same me, not a monster."

"You sound like André, you know," Mamma Joe chuckled, barely humorous. Actually, she was proud of her ten year old's intelligence.

"I see his point. What're we gonna do come full moon?" her innocent and inquisitive eyes fixed on her mother. "I wonder how André kept it secret so long."

"Dunno. Maybe it's because every full moon the villagers lock themselves up in their houses, no one noticed. Next moon you and I are going to lie low and hope for the best."

Emma protested, "But Mamma, you'll get hurt… or killed."

"I won't," said Mamma Joe, and gave Emma the short story of what had happened that night.

"You're not really going to let him, are you?" Emma asked.

"How could I not?" was the reply.


End file.
